Every time Isabella was on the verge of losing her composure, she would hit Severine, shutting her up.
As if forcing her to remain silent would keep it perfect. As long as no one pointed it out, she would still have a perfect family with a loving and loyal husband and a child she could be proud of.
Sure enough, in the next second, the old lady hissed the same command.
"Go to the punishment room! Right now! Don't you dare come out until you have thought it through."
Severine rubbed her stinging cheek. Her finger came out coated with blood.
She had accidentally bitten the corner of her lip again—a bad habit she had developed from a young age.
Isabella didn't like her cries; she never had. So she would bite her lip, forcing the wailing to die in her throat.
When had she stopped crying over slaps and begun to consider them normal?
There was no exact date, no exact time. Just that it had happened.
"No," she said, wiping her hand on a tissue.
